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Sampson was slowly but surely becoming more comfortable at school with every passing day. His second, third, and fourth day went much like the first; his eye-opening, curious walks with the standoffish Foster who always disappeared right before the school bell, then with the actual lessons themselves passing by in a blur of scribbling chalk and recitations. The daily lunch break was much more enjoyable now that he had David and William to eat with, but while he was comfortable with just the two of them, they insisted he meet the other boys who'd be at the campfire after a couple days of just sticking by themselves. There were three of them, and they were the oldest boys in the class besides Sam, Will, and Dave themselves, all of them a couple months over the age of eighteen.
First there was Jackson Ross, one of the most esteemed students in class, not that there was a lot to compete with in a small town like this. Being the town pastor's son and all, he was well kept, well mannered, and he raised his hand to answer just about every question; it was to the point he was barely called on anymore. David often pokes fun at him in class for having all of the ladies' attention, turning around when the teacher is occupied and whispering jokes with the older boys. While it's supposed to be a jest, he isn't really wrong; the girls often twitter about and mumble to themselves while looking the raven haired boy's way, words barely concealed by their cupped hands.
Not that Sampson cared much. If all girls were like his sisters at home, he'd done well to avoid being friends with them up until now.
Next to be introduced was Alexander Gaffen, a quiet ox of a man with dark blonde hair and muddy brown eyes. He is someone of few words and many gestures; he practically talks with his hands, a kind of amusing sight until you realize the few words he does say now and again were the gross, lecherous utterings of a teenager who doesn't yet deserve to be a man. Sampson makes a mental note not to talk to him too much, and to stick with David and William at the campfire.
Finally, the third boy was Jasper Fennel, an eccentric young man who wore fine clothes and spoke eloquently enough to think he could act better than the rest of them, even though he was farther behind in his studies. He could be a bit annoying at times, but other than that he seemed decent enough, often talking about new books he'd read or wondering what he'd learn to cook next in his family's large kitchen.
"Alright," After nothing but idle chatter for around five minutes, Jackson claps his hands together and quiets the six of them. "The campfire is only three days away. We can only do this three or four times a year, so we've got to make it count gentleman. Who's bringing the food?"
"I talked to Valentine Ross," David pipes up, which makes William elbow him with a knowing grin. "She said she could bring some butter cakes and the cutlery. She got a new picnic set from her older sister recently."
"Alright, great. Jasper can bring a few treats as well, I'm sure. Who's bringing the drinks, then? Anything will do," Jack pauses, before sending a tired look towards Alexander, who had already started smiling. "As long as it's not alcohol, got it?"
"I can bring some apple juice, or some raspberry cordial if you'd like?" Sampson pipes up, knowing they'd have a bottle or two to spare in the cellar that no one would notice go missing.
"That'd be great, thank you," Jackson smiles at him warmly, before continuing. "Anything else? I'm sure you can provide the kindling and the matches, Alex. And you're bringing some instruments, right Jasper?"
"Of course. What kind of campfire would this be if we didn't have some form of entertainment?" Jasper doesn't look up from his book as he responds. He's been stuck on the same page for the last three minutes, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. For his benefit, it was a rather large book.
"Oh, there will be entertainment all right," William smiles evilly, before turning towards his books and pulling out his journal. Flipping it open and leafing quickly trough the pages, he settles on one before looking back up. "I've been working on this story since last week. The girls will be trembling in their skirts, I promise you that."
"Can I read it?" Sampson asks, but William shakes his head furiously, stuffing his books away once again.
"Of course not! All of our stories have to be surprises," David interrupts, ripping off a chunk of his bread and stuffing it in his mouth. "Have you been working on yours, Sampson? You only have three days."
"O-Oh, uh, yes! Of course I have. It's gonna knock your knickers off, just you wait." Sampson had not been working on his, and it was very obvious. The boys only smiled, shook their heads, and let him stew in his panic while they continued the conversation. He had to make a good impression, he had to. Somehow he needed to come up with a decent scary tale, but he didn't know what... to write about...
The mushroom circle pushes its way to the forefront of his mind. Eyes widening, Sampson scrambles to grab his father's journal and a piece of lead, before beginning his furious scribbling, hand going to fiddle with the necklace of rings around his neck as he writes. In addition to the ring Foster had given him, Sampson had added one of his own; his father's wedding band, an old, worn thing made of pure iron. It was a comforting weight, but one he knew he wouldn't have much longer if his plan went well. He didn't mind that one bit though.
Tomorrow the schoolhouse would be closed and everyone would be staying home. This was a rare occurrence, but Mrs. Corey had a family emergency she needed to attend to outside of town, and town's school board had been unable to find her a replacement. Sampson hadn't told Foster this, and so he was excited to surprise the boy with a longer walk than usual and a replacement for the ring he'd gifted him.
Knowing the strange brunette seemed to like shiny things, and feeling bad for accepting the beautiful ring despite Foster's admonishments on it, Sampson had torn apart his chest of belongings looking for the old ring, letting out a cry of triumph when he did find it that was so loud Deirdre dropped a plate on the downstairs floor. He'd heard about that for a good couple hours after, but it was worth it to repay the boy for such an expensive gift.
"Sampson, what have you got there?" David asks, peering curiously at Sam's necklace while Will and the others continue talking, not paying attention. Startled, Sampson looks up from his journal and is about to tell him he'd got it from Foster, but the tall boy's words echoed through his head last minute.
'Keep it tucked under your shirt.'
"Nothing. An old necklace of my father's, that's all." Sampson says far too quickly, stuffing the ring back beneath his under shirt and giving him a strained smile. David cocks an eyebrow but says nothing more on the matter, turning back to pitch in on something Jasper had said.
When the final bell of the day rang, David, William, and Sampson set off together once more towards their homes, the conversation much less awkward than their first as they started to get friendlier and more comfortable with one another. As David and William talk about who else might be coming to the campfire, Sampson trails behind a bit, securing his book belt to the one holding up his trousers and taking out his lead piece and journal.
'The young man had been traipsing through the woods without a care in the world, a bottle of cheap liquor in one hand and a dying lantern in the other,' Sampson wrote out, tongue pinned once more between his teeth. 'He'd lost his dog the day before, who he considered his closest and only companion. In his grief-driven, drunken stupor, he'd decided to go looking for him in the dead of night...'
Sampson barely paid attention when it was time for him to say goodbye to William and David. Muttering a halfhearted goodbye and nearly running into the gate of his property instead of opening it, Will and Dave watch him go with a shared smile of amusement and a roll of the eyes before they continue on their way down the road.
When he walked into the front door and headed straight upstairs instead of grabbing his usual afternoon snack, Adelaide looked over her shoulder and called to him, "Sampson, everything alright? How was school?"
"Not right now, Addy, I'm bus-- actually," Halfway up the stairs, Sampson paused and turned around, peaking over the banister into the joined kitchen and dining room. "Adelaide, my dearest and most loved sister, I have a question for you."
"Dearest sister is pushing it," She snorts, turning back to the pot she was stirring on the stove. "What do you want?"
"Well, I was wondering if three days from now... you'd let me go to a campfire," A pause. "... with some new friends of mine," Another pause. "... at night."
"Sampson Hector Whittager," Adelaide drops the ladle into the soup pot, the curved handle of it only just catching on the edge of the container and saving it from complete submersion. Turning to him with a frazzled look, she starts to smooth down her hair and says "You want to go into the woods with a bunch of boys I haven't even met and set a fire? At night?! Absolutely not!"
"Addy, please! It's the first gathering I've ever been invited to! They're good people, they've all been very kind to me, and we'll be extra careful." He'd come all the way down and around the stairs now, setting his journal on the kitchen table.
"Don't you 'Addy please' me, Sampson. I'm only trying to keep you safe," She turns back around, taking the ladle out and putting it in the sink. "Mother would have a conniption if she found out you were going to hang out with these boys. Would there even be any oth--" She stops herself, takes a breath, and then continues. "Any girls there, with you boys? I'd feel safer if it wasn't just a bunch of boys up to who-knows-what."
Sampson is quiet for a moment, starting at the back of his sister's tensed neck and shoulders. "Yes, there will be girls there. Can I ask why you think I need an escort?" His words came out quiet and a bit cold. "And mother's been having the exact opposite of a conniption for the last couple of months, so I don't know why that is impor--"
"That's enough, Sampson," Adelaide's tone shuts him up immediately. "Don't you dare speak of our mother in that way." She turns to glare a hole straight through his eyes and out the back of his head, and Sampson has to bite his cheek to prevent from saying anything more.
Turning, she grabs the ladle out of the sink, a bowl, and a spoon from the counter before pouring him out a portion of stew. She sets them on the table in front of him with a heavy thud, never making eye contact, before turning around with a loud sigh.
"Go to your room. Eat your food. Do any school work that needs be done, and then go to bed. I will see you tomorrow before school." She says sternly, acting as though Sampson didn't know her lip was quivering just because she was turned around. "You're not going to that campfire, and that's final."
Without a word Sampson snatches his journal and the soup spoon up off of the table, leaving only the bowl of steaming stew behind. His stomach growls in protest, but Sampson just grits his teeth and marches up the stairs as loud as possible. On his way down the hall he hears Deirdre come in through the front door and ask Adelaide what's wrong, but by then he's already heading into his and Aiden's shared room and is slamming the door.
Throwing his book belt on the floor, Sampson drops down onto his bed with a loud thump, breathing heavy with the unspoken words he couldn't get past his lips. He tries to calm down, to get his breathing under control, but the pain in his chest won't lessen, so he takes a moment to loosen his bindings and lay back on his bed.
The soup spoon was clutched in his hand so tight that when he finally let go and dropped it on the sheets beneath him, a dark purple line was pressed deep into the palm of his hand from the flat handle. Sampson watches it slowly fade with dull, tired eyes, before they flit to his journal at the end of the bed.
He knows he can't go to the campfire, but he grabs the journal anyways, searching for the lead he'd dropped somewhere. When he finally finds it, he stands and crosses the room to the small writing desk by the room's only window, where the sun was slowly getting closer to the horizon. Removing his bindings completely and throwing on only his under shirt, he settles down in the rickety old chair and begins to write. Furiously, aggressively, until the beating of his heart finally slows to match the rhythm of his scrawl.
Aiden had rode into town earlier that day and wouldn't be back until tomorrow, so for the rest of the night Sampson sat at that desk, writing in page after page of his journal the scariest story he could muster. By the time the moon had made most of its circuit through the sky, Sampson had completed his story and fallen asleep across the writing desk, face mushed into the side of the warped old wood.
He awoke only a few hours later to a knock on the room door, early morning light shining into his eyes and aiding in their opening.
"Sampson?" Deirdre's voice was soft, lacking the sharpness it normally held. "It's time for school, hon. Please get dressed."
"I don't have school," He called, wiping the crust out of his eyes. Everything had happens much too abruptly last night for him to explain to Adelaide his teacher's absence. "I... I have a note from Mrs. Corey, one moment."
Standing, he decides to get dressed for the day anyways before fishing the written note from one of his textbooks. Crossing the room and unlocking the door, he sees Deirdre standing there with a mostly concealed look of worry on her face.
"Here, take this to Adelaide for me please," He mumbles, yawning and scratching the back of his neck. "I'm going to go for a walk, okay?"
Deirdre simply looks down at the note and nods, before turning and walking back down the stairs. Turning back to his room, Sampson finds the soup spoon on the writing desk where he'd left it and pockets it along with the old iron ring. He'd taken it off of the leather cord last night, retying it around his neck with the solitary silver ring once more.
Having all of his wares tucked away and out of sight, Sampson walks quickly down the stairs and out the door before anyone can say another word to him, past his two sisters and his grandmother making breakfast in the kitchen without stopping for breakfast. He waved once more to his grandfather in the barn on his way through the yard, before hopping the gate once more and setting off down the road at a brisk walk.
Sampson was tired, hungry, and a bit sore from the strange sleeping position he'd found himself in, but none of these things were going to get in the way of today's plans. Checking his pocket watch as the bend in the road came into view, he knew he was a little late and only hoped that Foster wouldn't give him shit for it. Despite him not having a watch or anything of the like on his own person, the brunette was unnaturally punctual. Then again, there were many things unnatural about that boy, none of which Sampson minded one bit.
As he finally rounded the corner of the road, he let out a quiet sigh of relief when he caught sight of Foster waiting for him at the side of the road, leaning casually against a large tree. His body said relaxed and calm, but his face spoke of nothing but annoyance. After a few days of them walking together every morning, Sampson had gotten used to Foster's surliness, though today he couldn't tell if he could help snapping back if he made too rude of a remark.
"You're late," Is the first thing Foster says as Sampson nears, his lilting Irish accent music to Sampson's exhausted ears. Light brown eyes give him a quick once-over, and he decides to add "And you look like shite. Where are your books?"
"I don't have school today," Sampson shrugs, a small smile spreading across his face despite the insult to his appearance. "Now c'mon, lets walk. I need to stretch my legs."
"Mm, if you say so." Foster raises a brow at him but says nothing more as the two set off on the trail, Sampson finding it's easier to breathe every step of the way. The two walk in thick silence, and Sampson pretends not to notice the quick side glances Foster throws his way every once in a while.
"You're quiet today," Foster finally says, stopping in his tracks despite them not having walked far. Sampson stops too, confused. "What's going on?"
"Ah, you've caught me," Sampson lets a small chuckle pass his lips before he starts to dig in his pockets. He'd much rather let Foster thing he was trying to hide something rather than him being upset. "I was never that good at keeping surprises a, well, a surprise. Here." He pulls out the iron ring and the silver spoon, holding both of them up so they shine in the morning light. Foster's eyes go wide for a moment, his mouth falling open in a soft 'oh', before he schools his face once more, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.
"What do you want?" The brunette asks, eyes shifting back and forth between the two shining metal pieces in suspicion.
"Nothing. They're gifts for the ring, and for the company every morning," Sampson first offers him the spoon, which the boy immediately snatches away and cradles to his chest. He takes a moment to hold it up in the light, letting it refract the sun, before he starts to peer at himself in the broad back of the spoon. "There's also this. I know you like rings, and this is too big to fit my fingers. You have bigger hands that me, so I thought you could try it on."
Foster is still looking at him suspiciously, but after a moment he finally tucks the spoon into an inside pocket of his coat. Sampson hears clinking for a moment, and he's almost sure the brunette has more spoons in that pocket, but he decides to say nothing on the matter and instead hold the ring out for him.
"Well then," Foster mutters, scratching at the back of his neck. His eyes flit from the ring in Sampson's outstretched hand and up to his face, going back and forth for a moment, before he finally nods. "I appreciate the gesture, Sampson. What kind of ring is it?" Sampson smiles and takes a step froward to place it in the palm of the boy's hand, relief at the fact he likes the gifts making his legs feel like jelly. Or maybe that was just him being tired?
"It's an old ir--" As he drops it in the palm of Foster's hand, the boy before him lets out a shout of pain and immediately drops it, clutching at his left hand and taking a few steps back.
"Damn it all to hell that hurt!" Foster curses, eyes ablaze as he clutches his hand. Turning to look at Sampson, who's eyes were wide with concern and fear, he growls out "What kind of ring was that again?!"
"I-Iron, it was iron! Are you okay? Give me your hand, let me look at it--" Sampson was panicking, having no idea what was going on.
"Don't touch me! I'll be fine, I'm... I'm just allergic to iron," Foster hisses out, looking down at his hand. "Severely allergic."
"Give me your hand, dammit. Don't be stubborn!" Sampson barks out, his tone much sterner than anything he'd ever used with Foster, and for a minute Foster's lip curls like he's going to give the blonde the worst tongue lashing he would ever receive. Then, to Sam's surprise, he sticks his hand out for Sampson to see, wincing with the movement.
"Don't touch me," He mutters, head turning away from Sam. "Just look at it."
"I won't, don't worry," Sampson nods, his tone soft once more as he moves as close as he's allowed to check out Foster's hand.
There was a perfect circle burned into the center of Foster's palm. It was red, angry, and already forming a blister. It looked as though it had been done with a cattle prod of some kind, or a heated utensil right out of the oven.
"Lord above, that looks like it hurts," Sampson breathes, looking up at Foster with a furrowed brow. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you, I wouldn't have given it to you if I had know you were all--"
"It's fine. I just need to rub some dirt in it and it'll be fine." Foster shrugs, and goes to put his hand in his pocket but Sampson catches his wrist.
"You will do no such thing!" Glaring at Foster, he turns and starts to drag the taller boy in the direction of where they'd come, picking the ring up out of the dirt as they went. "We're going to my house, right now. You need that patched up, or it can get infected."
"Let go of me!" Foster hisses, trying to pull his hand out of Sampson's firm grip. He succeeds easily enough, much stronger than the stubborn blonde, but Sampson isn't giving up.
"Then come on! I'm just going to wash it, put some honey on it, and wrap it--"
"Honey?" Foster interrupts, facial expression doing a complete one-eighty to the one it had been. Instead of incredibly cross, he now looked expectant and even a little hopeful. "You have honey? How much, where?!"
"... We have a lot at my house. We keep bees, so--" Sampson is utterly taken aback by the boy's sudden switch in emotion, especially when Foster starts marching in the direction of his house without another word. Sampson is stuck standing there for a moment longer, scratching at his head in the morning light, until Foster calls to him from ahead.
"Come on! This blasted thing hurts."
"Well... I'm happy you've seen sense, I guess." With a slow shake of his head and a tired smile, Sampson starts to lightly jog to catch up with the brunette and his long legs, only able to wonder at how this was going to go.
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Soup Spoon |Discontinued|
Fantasy𓆏 Highest Rank: #1 in LGBTfantasy [This story was inspired by @junebugs.n.scones' OC TikTok series, also know as @actualtrash402 on Wattpad!] 𓆏 Sampson Whittager hasn't lived with his grandparents in over ten years, but when his father dies of a...
